


The F Train

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Do you have to go to work tomorrow?!, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gotta get on a train?, HEY YOU!, Why don't you enjoy imagining this fluffy goodness happens to you?, YEAH YOU!, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 23:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15874320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: You notice a particularly handsome man on your morning commute, and then again but third times the charm.





	The F Train

You were never a morning person that’s for sure. Your coffee machine gets more use than any other appliance in your home and one day you really _will_ end up pumping it directly into your veins. No matter how many cups you manage to sink before leaving your apartment in the mornings it’s still the same routine once you get to the subway.

You know exactly where to stand to be the first one on the train and you’re an expert at getting a seat. There’s no concern for who you slide up against, what man spreader you might sit next to or who is shooting you a glare for plopping your ass down before them. You’re getting a seat. Why? Because you spend forty minutes on this train every morning and that is the perfect amount of time for a power nap on the way to work.

The rocking of the carriage and the sounds of screeching metal only lull you to sleep faster. The caffeine you’ve inhaled hasn’t kicked in yet, but it will. It’ll kick in as soon as you open your eyes at the other end. You’re well versed at this game, your head slips forward till your head rests gently against your chest and your body shakes with the train as it carries you.

You’re not a morning person and you need your extra forty minutes.

This morning, however, there’s something off about the situation. You got a seat, as usual, your hands curl around your purse like a teddy bear, as usual, and yet sleep doesn’t come as easily. It’s probably ten minutes before you close your eyes and you don’t know why. Normally you’re dozing off before you hit the next stop.

You think you figure it out when you open your eyes three stops before you get off. You’re never happy to wake up but you do it anyway knowing that you can’t paw at your eyes childishly since you’ve already done your makeup for the day. There are a few slow blinks though that are close to sending you hurtling back into your dreams as you adjust to the world again, and that’s when you see him.

He’s watching you intently. He doesn’t even pretend to be ashamed of it, doesn’t look away hurriedly when your eyes meet his. If anything, you catching him staring only makes this slow, deliberate smirk appear on his face. It’s like he doesn’t even know the rules of public transportation, the first being; no eye contact dude.

That’s not to say you’re hating the eye contact since the eyes you’re looking into are impossibly green, bright and sparkling, and far too awake for this time of the morning. The lines on his face might signify a sleepless night but his eyes shine in your direction.

You have to drag yourself to away. He’s been unabashedly watching at you for god knows how long but you can’t stand it to stare back at him for more than a minute. You’re too well trained in commuter etiquette and, more than that, you’re too damn flustered by the _way_ he looks at you. He can likely see the shy smile on your face but you hope and pray that he can’t feel the heat that burns from your cheeks, although it’s surely hot enough to reach him where he sits opposite. 

Your legs know where they’re going thankfully. Straightening up and walking you off the train as soon as you hit your stop. There’s only time for the smallest of second glances before the crowd carries you the rest of the way. He’s still there, looking, grinning, until the automatic doors close and leave you stranded on the platform.

* * *

He’s not on the train the next day or the one after that. A week later and you’ve all but forgotten how green his eyes were or how soft the scruff on his jaw looked. You’re back to normal, sleeping on the train, hating mornings and not thinking about your missed connection.

You've woken up a stop early today, or half a stop early. The train comes to a shuddering halt in a dark tunnel and a surly voice pumps out some excuse about a minor delay. It’s a common enough occurrence you just wish he hadn’t stopped the train with such a force as to wake you, you could have had an extra few minutes.

Except you are awake now and there’s no point trying to cling to peaceful oblivion any longer. When the train starts moving again more people than normal get off at the next stop as if they don’t trust this particular train anymore. At least half the carriage empties out including the people sitting either side of you.

Of course, unsuspecting and more trusting people take their places. Just as quickly as the seats were vacated and they’re filled again. You don’t pay any attention to your new seatmates, only having two stops left yourself. However, when the train starts moving again there’s a bump against your shoulder. Not the usual knock of another person being shaken by the momentum. Slight as it may be but there’s a definite bump. It catches you off guard and you pull your eyes up from your phone in slow motion when you realize it was meant to get your attention.

His face is waiting for you. This time the smirk is there before your eyes meet his, in anticipation, and he has one perfectly raised eyebrow that seems to speak for him.

“Hi,” you manage, breaking rule number two of commuting; never, ever speak to anyone.

Your half shocked, half sleepy greeting only amuses him further and the crinkles around his eyes deepen. This man, this perfectly everything man in front of you, surely, he must be a model? Or some other profession where he’s paid to be this ridiculously attractive. Being this close to him makes your mouth dry for how much you can take in his features. 

Then his lips, those lips that look so soft and inviting, part and you prepare for potentially the meaning of life. What you get is, “this is your stop, right?”

Your neck almost snaps for how hard and quickly you spin your head around noticing he’s right. Shit. You barely escape against the onslaught of people already boarding and for the second time you have to watch hot train guy disappear into the dark subway tunnel.

Only this time you can’t get that deep, rumbling drawl out of your head.

* * *

You’re late. You are never late. You might sleep till the very last moment but you’re always up at your first alarm. You’ve never risked the snooze button, secretly afraid that once your body knows it’s there you’ll never get out of bed again.

Today you’re late though because your alarm never went off at all. Your ridiculously overpriced smartphone decided to do something in the night, an update or a backup or whatever, and it never came back on. Instead, you were woken up by your bladder a full thirty minutes later than your alarm would normally go off.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

After a rushed routine you make it out the door only twenty minutes later than normal, but you’ve still missed your usual train, the one where you always get a seat. And you have coffee in a to-go cup because you didn’t have time to finish it at home. And you’re running, barely making it before the metal doors clang behind you.

There was a reason you didn’t get a later train, besides the fact that you’re going to be late into the office, it’s packed so tight that cozy doesn’t even cover it. Your coffee is pressed against your chest with no room to even think about tipping it up and taking a sip. There’s someone at every side and you don’t even need to hang on to anything because the bodies you’re trapped between keep you standing.

It’s two stops before you manage to slink your body against the metal bars separating the wheat from the chaff, or the seated from the standing. You let out the smallest of sighs for having at least one part of you that isn’t pressed against a stranger’s body heat, although it’s still busy. Too busy. You’re going to feel every one of these next forty minutes and probably hate them all.

You don’t even have your headphones with you because, obviously, they’re still on your desk at work. So, you end up standing there trying not to stare at anyone, re-reading the same four adverts that you can actually see over people’s heads and counting down the stops like it’ll make the damn thing go faster. It doesn’t. If anything, it just makes you appreciate the mundane boredom you normally miss out on by sleeping through this.

Twenty minutes in and there’s a guy at the other end of the carriage trying to sing in the middle of this bedlam. You’d think without your headphones you might appreciate the distraction but really, it’s unfair to compare your entire music library versus an amateur singing a song you don’t know in the terrible acoustics of a subway car. It doesn’t take long for the noise to become more frustrating than the silence.

You’re finally ten minutes away from work when that voice is back, “I have a confession to make.”

Even though you recognize him by his voice, you only heard it the day before, you still tense for a second because, you know, stranger danger. Your shoulders only relax when you turn and see him, although seeing him still doesn’t make him any less of a stranger really. All you know about him so far is that he likes to watch you sleep. That should be reason enough not to encourage him but encourage him you do. You look up at him through your lashes and quip, “oh really?”

He shrugs one shoulder, you’re not sure how he even has space to, or how he got himself next to you in the first place, “I’ve been trying to bump into you again.”

Yep. Ok. Not any less weird yet. If anything, you’re concerned you might have accidentally picked up a stalker. A handsome and charming one, but a stalker none the less.

“You don’t want to like, wear my skin or anything right?”

Sometimes you have to ask the tough questions.

He lets out this laugh that comes from his gut and makes his whole-body shake. It attracts a few looks from people around you, laughter isn’t something that happens very often on the morning F train.

“Nah. I was just in town for a bit. Seeing you twice was a coincidence and then today I thought I’d missed you-”

“I’m running late.” You cut him off to explain yourself.

“I see that sweetheart. I’m starting to think if I don’t ask you out we’ll just keep meeting like this.”

What, flushed and tired on the morning commute? Except he doesn’t look flushed or tired so maybe that’s just you.

“So, are you going to ask?” And for one beautiful second that’s the coolest you’ve ever been in your entire life. Pressed against the metal bars, talking to the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and casually taking a sip of your coffee like you’re perfect amounts available and hard to get.

It only lasts a second though because that’s the moment the carriage jolts sending a random stranger on a collision course with your elbow, the same elbow holding your coffee cup. You miss your mouth, by a considerable amount, and send a splash of liquid down your chin and chest. It’s only warm now rather than scalding but even if it were painful your biggest concern would still be how utterly embarrassed you are.

“Oh my god. Oh, my fucking god.”

Everyone else on the train is doing the classic, if they don’t look at you then you don’t exist thing, making you feel like the poor bozo who had been singing earlier. But tall and handsome, and still nameless, is wide-eyed and you can’t help wonder if it’s not knowing what to do or wanting an escape route. 

He doesn’t need to worry though. Fate lends him another hand in the form of your stop, finally. Now he can avoid you and pretend this never happened like you’re sure he wants to.

“I’ve got to…” you trail off pointing at the door with your still half full cup and trying to not think about how damp and stained you are.

Standing so close to the door allows you a quick escape, so quick in fact that you almost miss out on him calling over the crowd, “I won’t ask you out for coffee then."

* * *

Twenty minutes late for work means you had no time to do anything about the state of yourself beyond dabbing tissues tragically. Nothing was going to fix the golden stain on your shirt even once you’re dry. You’d spent the day wondering what person you’d screwed over in a previous life to end up in such a ridiculous situation. You’d checked the internet to see what the opposite of a meet-cute is called, unsurprisingly it’s a meet-ugly and the phrase feels like a pretty good summation of your life till this point.

The day beyond that had been a lot like spilling coffee over yourself, repeatedly. So many people asked you what happened that you couldn’t escape it, telling the story over and over again. Even leaving out the part about your supermodel stalker the tale was pathetic enough.

So, imagine your surprise when you bundle down the steps into the station that evening only to see him leaning against the wall without a care in the world looking like he’s James freaking Dean. The sight of him still makes your breath hitch. The potential of him being here for you. A thought that’s confirmed when he spots you and pushes himself up to meet you halfway.

“I didn’t get to ask you out.”

You laugh because holy fuck. What is happening to you that he’s here, waiting for you like a John Hughes film. “No, you didn’t.”

“Dinner, tomorrow?” Honestly, this guy is so smooth he makes silk look rough. Two words and you’re already done.

“Sounds good hot guy stalker.”

He frowns and even that is good looking, the ass. “I wouldn’t say stalker, but I’ll take hot. Or, you know, Dean.”

“Dean,” the word rolls around in your mouth and you decide, with a nod, that it suits him. “I’m Y/N, but I’d love to know what you’ve been calling me in your head?”

“Oh sweetheart, we might be a little too public for me to tell you that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Tooth rotting stuff huh?


End file.
